


Royals

by cassie_black



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 23:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1406908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To some people, football is more important than life and death. Over the course of his final school year, Merlin learns the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Royals

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [ART: Royals](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384366) by [fingerprintbruises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingerprintbruises/pseuds/fingerprintbruises). 



School sucks.

It's not a thought that's new to Merlin. He's felt this way on and off since primary. But this year, his _final_ year, things are different.

He knows it's an important year, academically speaking – A Levels aren't going to pass themselves, and his mum's still clinging onto that distant dream of him actually going to university. But the workload the teachers are piling on seems designed to break rather than build their futures.

Then there's football. And yes, Merlin would love for Albion Royals to win their third successive league title just as much as his coach would, but he just doesn't think that training the team to the point of exhaustion is the way to go about it.

And on top of all this, there's Arthur. Or rather, there _was_ Arthur. Before Merlin screwed it up. And, okay, so maybe he should have discussed it with Arthur before talking to Gwen, because, hello, _boyfriend_ , but he'd honestly thought that Arthur would understand. He knows how things are harder for Merlin at Albion then they are for him at his fancy boarding school. And he knows how much is at stake for Merlin, what he stands to lose if his secret comes out.

Yes, asking Gwen to be his girlfriend might sound crazy, but really, Merlin had thought it was the perfect solution. They've all been best friends since playschool – Arthur had even gone out with Gwen himself, one confused summer. And it isn't like Merlin and Gwen are actually _doing_ anything.

"He'll come around," Gwen keeps saying. "You know Arthur can't hold a grudge."

But it's been nearly six weeks now and Merlin's afraid that Gwen's wrong, that Arthur's changed, and that one stupid decision borne out of fear may have ruined everything forever.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

A sharp jab of Gwen's elbow has Merlin rubbing his ribs. "What was that for?"

"Mr Wright's here." Gwen nods at the open classroom and the slowly disappearing line of students in front of them.

"I hate English," Merlin groans, hefting his bag onto his shoulder.

"You hate every subject that doesn't include chasing a bag of wind around a pitch. You'd think that by now you'd—OW! Merlin!"

"Gwen," Merlin says slowly, not relaxing the tight grip he's taken on her arm. "I think I'm going crazy."

Gwen rolls her eyes and with a sharp flick of her wrist, frees her arm. "You think?"

"I'm serious. I'm actually starting to see things that aren't there."

Gwen glances around them quickly, but her expression is carefully neutral. "What are you talking about?"

"I swear I just saw Arthur out there," he gestures towards the window opposite, "going into the science labs. Which is crazy, because he's in Winchester." Merlin rubs fiercely at his eyes, as if to clear the illusion.

"You're not crazy, Merlin," Gwen says quietly.

"No?"

"No." She shakes her head, dark curls bouncing with the movement. "And you're not seeing things either."

Merlin frowns for a moment as he processes her words. "Guinevere Smith, explain yourself."

Gwen's expression is guilty but she meets his accusing glare with defiance. "Uther is ill – a heart attack. Arthur's moved back home to be near him, I believe."

"You believe?" Merlin repeats incredulously. "How could you—"

"Are you two planning on joining the rest of the class any time today?" Mr Wright, Merlin's least favourite teacher at that moment, appears in the doorway, a baleful expression in place. "You, of all people, Mr Emrys, cannot afford to miss anymore schooling."

Merlin gives Gwen the scowl he dares not give his teacher. And with a hissed, "This isn't over," he strides determinedly into class.

Fortunately for Gwen, Mr Wright commands their undivided attention for the nextfiftyminutes, and then holds Merlin back to discuss his 'outstanding' homework. So she's able to defer the inevitable confrontation until Merlin has calmed down somewhat.

Balked of his prey, Merlin makes his way to the last class of the day. Maths. A subject he detests only slightly less than English, but one which his brain just seems to _get_. Fortunately it's only a short dash from the English block, so he's at his desk, books out, and already plotting Gwen's untimely demise before the teacher arrives.

This is probably why he doesn't notice Arthur until he's seated directly opposite him. Arthur knows he's there, Merlin can tell this from the way he's studiously looking everywhere in the room but at him, and no matter how hard Merlin tries, Arthur refuses to acknowledge his existence.

It's difficult because Merlin wants nothing more than to stare at Arthur, to re-familiarise himself with every line of his handsome face. But Merlin's got an image to maintain – the very same image that cost him Arthur in the first place – so he drags his focus back to the delights of trig, and contents himself with plans of accosting Arthur once school is out for the day.

Arthur is no slouch though, and he's obviously anticipated Merlin's next move, because he's on his feet the moment the bell rings, and heading for the door with single-minded determination. But Merlin hasn't been The Royals star forward for the last two seasons without being fleet-of-foot, and with scant heed for the protests of his classmates, he hurries down the rapidly-filling corridor in hot pursuit.

He's almost done it, too. Arthur is practically within arm's reach when Merlin's nemesis, in the form of his _favourite_ English teacher appears. 

"Walk, Emrys! This is a school, not a running track."

Merlin's experienced too many after-school detentions at the hands of Mr Wright to bother arguing; Coach will kill him if he misses another practice. So he's forced to watch Arthur disappear into the car park beyond without so much as a glance behind.

"He's still angry."

Merlin halts at the sound of Gwen's voice. "He's not the only one," Merlin replies tersely.

Gwen links her arm with his. "I only found out this morning, I promise. I had to drop some forms off at the office during break, and Arthur was there waiting to see the Head."

Merlin doesn't resist her grasp – that's the whole point of this charade, after all. "I still don't see why you wouldn't tell me."

"When, though?" Gwen asks as they begin making their way through the crowds into the yard. "At lunchtime? When you're sat with Valiant and his cronies? Or maybe I could have done it in the middle of Miss Hart's biology test?"

Merlin can admit to himself that she has a point, but he's not quiteprepared to admit it out loud just yet. "You still should have told me," he says stubbornly.

"And I was going to," Gwen says with a quiet huff. "But I was hoping we could make it through the day without you seeing him, and then I could tell you after school. You know, without an audience of hundreds?"

"How is his dad?" Merlin asks, unwilling to debate that point any longer. 

"He's stable," Gwen replies, allowing the change. "They're still watching him in case he has another attack. But Arthur says the doctors are hopeful."

"At least he's talking to one of us." For the life of him, Merlin can't keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Gwen pats his arm gently. "You're going to have to wait for him to come to you. He really is still angry about things."

"I don't understand why, though." And Merlin genuinely doesn't, not really. "It's not like you and me are actually…you know."

"I know," Gwen says. "And so does he. I think it's more that you didn't tell him first."

"I did tell him."

"But not before he'd seen it as an update on Facebook first. Give him time, Merlin."

So Merlin takes Gwen’s advice. He backs off, gives him time to breathe, and waits for Arthur to come to him. They’ve had variations on this argument before and Arthur's anger has never lasted more than a few days. But by the end of the week, it’s obvious that Arthur isn’t coming round any time soon. He keeps his head down in class, eyes fixed forward in the corridors, and if by chance their paths do cross, it’s like Merlin isn’t there.So by Friday Merlin has had enough. He isn’t one for confrontation, never has been, but finally being this close to Arthur on a daily basis and yet not actually _being_ with Arthur makes him ache in ways that he’d really like to stop. So he gathers what little bits of his courage aren’t hiding and hunts Arthur down.

It’s not hard. He’s in the library. He’s _always_ in the library. Merlin originally thought it was an avoidance tactic, but looking at Arthur now, his lonely table practically groaning under the weight of the kind of books that make Merlin’s head ache just looking at them, he starts to realise that all those times Arthur said he couldn’t come round, or call, or Skype because he was studying were actually true, and not the excuses he had taken them for.

The library is practically empty – but then, it’s lunchtime, and most people are either in the canteen or down in the town. Where Merlin should be, he thinks, trying to ignore his rumbling belly. But at least that means there are less prying eyes, and fewer witnesses to his potential humiliation.

He approaches the table in silence, pulls out the chair carefully, wincing as it scrapes on the floor. When he’s settled in the seat, bag tucked under the table, Merlin looks up hesitantly and finds Arthur regarding him with a neutral expression –he’s giving nothing away.

"Can I sit here?"

Arthur's expression remains blank. "Since you already are, there seems little point in me saying no." And then he turns back to his books as if Merlin were just another student, and not someone who is…so much more. 

Merlin's thrown by this. The library really isn't the place he'd wanted to have this conversation, but he's spent all morning psyching himself up and he is _ready_. And this refusal on Arthur's part to even engage has him completely wrong-footed. He fidgets in his chair, uncertain of how to proceed. Unfortunately his restless movements send one of Arthur's books to the floor with a startlingly bang.

In the quiet of the library the noise echoes ridiculously loud. Merlin does not have to see the librarian's disapproving glare to be sure of its presence.

"Did you actually want something, Merlin?" Arthur's tone is laced with impatience. "Only, I have all this work to get through."

He gestures at the surrounding books, and Merlin really looks at them this time, allows his fingers to trail over the surface of one whose name he can't pronounce. "You can't possibly have this much homework already. You've only been here a week."

Arthur reaches out and draws the book back from Merlin's touch. "My entrance exam is in less than six weeks. You know that."

Merlin did know, or had known at any rate. But the state of things between him and Arthurhas occupied the larger part of his brain for the last two months, and anything left has been taken up with football. But still, he should have remembered. 

"I'm sorry about your dad," he blurts out instead of the other apology he'd be planning.

Arthur's expression tightens a little, the way it always does when Uther Pendragon is mentioned.

"Is he all right?" Merlin has never been one for taking heed of warning signs.

"He'll be okay," Arthur replies tersely. "They should release him in a week or so."

Merlin nods, pauses, and then asks, "How did he take you changing schools?"

The laugh that follows is sharp, almost bitter. "Not well, as I'm sure you can imagine. But it's only for one year – he'll get used to it."

"So you really are staying?" A large part of Merlin had thought that once Uther was released, Arthur would hurry back to his boarding school, leaving Merlin alone again.

"Anxious to be rid of me, are you?" There isn't a hint of teasing in Arthur's tone.

"No!" Merlin isn't sure how this started to go wrong, but he scrambles to pull it back. "Arthur, I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry, Merlin. I won't tell anyone your dirty little secret. Wouldn't want your precious teammates finding out, would we?"

For Merlin it's like déjà vu. Most of their last summer together was filled with arguments centredon this very theme. Arthur is no less right now than he was then, but even him being there still doesn't change things enough that Merlin is willing to take a risk. He isn't sure he has the words to explain this to Arthur, but he's going to have to try.

But as usual, the fates conspire against Merlin one more time.

"Emrys, you loser!"

Valiant's voice is loud and harsh in the quiet library. But, as with most things, he is immune to disapproving glares. 

"What the hell are you doing in here?" he demands as he approaches their table. Then he halts for a moment as if seeing Arthur for the first time. "Ah, making friends with the new boy." He drops his bag on the desk, obscuring half the books. Merlin sees how Arthur's jaw tenses, but Valiant isn't done yet. "Thought you were turning geek on us. No offence, mate," he adds in Arthur's direction.

"None taken" Though it's perfectly clear, to Merlin at least, that this isn't the case, Valiant has never been what you might call perceptive. 

"Were you looking for me?" Merlin realises no good can come of having Val and Arthur in such close proximity and decides to end it as quickly as possible.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Jonno's buggered his ankle." 

"Shit." And Merlin really means that, because not only is this bad news for the team's prospects, but also because Arthur has closed off again, and whatever miniscule progress Merlin might have made is lost, and he _really_ needs to sort this out.

"Exactly." Valiant nods emphatically. "Looks like we're going to have to put Edwin into midfield. Either that, or well have to change the entire team formation. Coach has called a meeting." He grabs his bag off the table and looks at Merlin who is still seated. "You comin’then, or what?"

Merlin glances at Arthur who is studiously avoiding his gaze. “In a minute. I just need to sort something out with Arthur."

But Arthur shakes his head. "It's fine, Merlin. Just go." 

It obviously isn't, but Valiant's just standing there and there's no way he can push things now, so Merlin nods in resignation. "I'll call you later," he says, tone laced with hope.

"I'll be at the hospital." 

Arthur barely looks up from his books as he replies and Merlin's heart sinks. It's been nearly two months since things were right between them, and even now that they're geographically closer than term-time ever has them, Arthur shows no signs of wanting to bridge the gap.

Another two weeks pass, weeks where Merlin tries and fails, and things still aren't right between them. They're polite now, friendly almost, but outside of lessons Arthur rarely leaves the library, and outside of school he clings to his father's ill-health like it's a shield to protect him from Merlin.

And Merlin aches – from the obvious hurt he's caused Arthur, from the separation that shows no sign of ending, and from the lie that he's forced to live every day as a result of his own cowardice. Because _he_ did this. Merlin knows that. It's his choices that led him to this point –walking hand-in-hand with Gwen when every touch feels like a betrayal, even when they both know it isn't, not really. And the problem is that no matter how much he aches, no matter how much he wants to take back the hurt he's caused, Merlin knows he's still not ready to do the one thing that Arthur wants.

Merlin sits at the rickety desk in his bedroom and rubs his forehead wearily. Practice had been long and hard, and he's still got a pile of homework to complete, because if his marks don't improve soon then his mum will get very difficult about the hours he spends at football.

_"You can't make a living out of kicking a ball around, Merlin,"_ she says, which is ridiculous, as the likes of Beckham and Gerrard and Rooney can attest. But she gets a look on her face like she's sucking back a lemon and she doesn't need to say _"What if you're not good enough?"_ outloud for Merlin to hear it. It's a question he already asks himself far too often.

The pile of work awaiting him is daunting – neither Biology nor English look appealing, but sadly they won't write themselves. So with one last despairing rake of his fingers through his hair, Merlin takes a deep breath and picks up the nearest textbook. 

He's barely halfway through the first chapter before there is a knock at his bedroom door. Merlin's impressed – he's been trying for years now to get his mum to understand that knocking on the door as you enter a room is not the same thing. 

"Come in."

Only, no one does. 

Eager for any excuse to leave his books behind, Merlin gets to his feet and crosses the room. Whatever he'd been expecting when he opened the door, it certainly wasn't to find Arthur on the other side.

He takes a step back and says "Come in," rather hurriedly, as if afraid Arthur will change his mind and leave. 

Arthur doesn't speak as he enters the room, but as Merlin closes the door behind them, he finds himself pressed up against its cold, unyielding surface, and suddenly Arthur is kissing him.

It's a hard, desperate sort of kiss, with too much teeth and not enough _everything_ for Merlin, and he clutches tightly at Arthur's jumper, ready to hold on should he try to take this back. Arthur's impossibly close, crowding Merlin against the door to the point their bodies start and end with each other, and at some point Merlin forgets to breathe.

Apparently Arthur does the same because moments later he pulls back – a short distance, but still too far for Merlin –and he's delightfully breathless. 

"I'm still mad at you," Arthur murmurs when their lips are mere inches apart. 

"I know," Merlin says softly, and then can’t resist lickinghis lips to just _taste_ Arthur. "I’m sorry, I just wanted—" Whatever Merlin wanted is cut off then because Arthur is kissing him again, a little softer than before but no less intense. 

"I know nothing's changed for you," Arthur says, in between kisses. "Or for me either. But I can't be so near to you every day and not have _this_. It's driving me crazy."

Merlin slides his fingers under the hem of Arthur's jumper and strokes the warm, soft skin he finds there. He hopes his touch will say what he daren't, because he's afraid he'll say something wrong and then Arthur will leave again.

"We need to talk at some point," Arthur says, his breath warm and damp against the skin of Merlin's neck. "I know that." And now he's turning Merlin around and slowly edging him backwards across the room. "But I thought for tonight we could just do this."

Merlin's calves hit the edge of his bed and he tumbles to the mattress without protest. He knows Arthur's right, they need to talk, and probably should before going any further, but there's no way he's turning back now. Not when Arthur is looking down at him with a smile on his face that Merlin hasn't been able to put there for a long time.

Merlin's legs fall to the sides and Arthur settles between them like he's never been anywhere else. "Are you sure?" Merlin whispers as Arthur moves against him, and then wants to kick himself for the stupidity, because what a time to ask _that_.

"Merlin." Arthur's face hovers close to his own, blond strands almost tickling Merlin's forehead.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." And before he can object – although the chances of that happening are distinctly remote – Arthur's lips are there again, his tongue seeking its way between Merlin's lips, and the comforting, oh-so-familiar weight of Arthur's body atop him.

"Merlin!" Footsteps sound on the stairs and there's the faint murmur of chatter. "Merlin! Gwen's here to see you."

His mother's voice is as effective as a bucket of cold water and Merlin is relieved when Arthur rolls off – he doesn't want to be the one to push him away, not when things appear to be getting back on track. It isn't that Gwen doesn't know about them – she's known how he feels about Arthur since they were thirteen – but she already has an insatiable curiosity about their love life, and if she walks in on them like that, well, Merlin will never hear the end of her questions. Besides, his mum is out there, and the door isn't locked, and he'd been so carried away, so wrapped up in having Arthur back, that Merlin had forgotten the risks.

Merlin scrambles to his feet and makes futile efforts to straighten his shirt and hair. Futile because Arthur is still sprawled on the bed, one hand draped over his eyes, and the crumpled sheets tell a tale that their flushed cheeks only corroborate. 

Gwen knocks. A surprising act in itself and a sure sign she knows he's not alone – she normally breezes right in. However, like his mother, she doesn't wait to be invited, and before Merlin has chance to respond, the door is open and her beaming countenance appears.

"Your mum said you had company."

Merlin isn't blind, he sees the way her eyes rake over him and the knowing little smirk that curves her lips.

"Hi, Arthur." She sinks onto the mattress at his side and bounces slightly. "I was beginning to despair of you two ever sorting yourselves out."

Arthur pulls the arm away from his face and turns to face Gwen. "Thankfully we have you and your impeccable timing to help with that," he says, wry grin in place.

Gwen giggles and Merlin doesn't need a mirror to know his cheeks are even more flushed now. "Don't worry, I'm not stopping long." She pokes Arthur in his side and laughs even more as he squirms away – Arthur's terribly ticklish, something they both like to exploit. 

Merlin feels a tightness loosen in his chest as he watches things between them slowly returning to normal. They'd been so close, the three of them, even after Arthur had moved to a different school; it felt like one of those friendships that would last forever. Right up until Gwen had become his _girlfriend_ , and it seemed that things had changed irreparably. 

Merlin clears his throat and shrugs off the sudden wave of emotion before it overwhelms him. "To what do I owe the honour, then?"

Gwen finally relents in her teasing of Arthur and smiles over at him. "Can't a girl visit her boyfriend for no reason?" It's obvious from the way the smile freezes on her face, that Gwen knows it's the wrong thing to say as soon as the words are out. 

Arthur sits upright on the bed, his back to the both of them, but one look at the tense line of his shoulders has Merlin's stomach twisting in knots of fear. Gwen looks from Arthur to Merlin, her expression helpless. The guilt is obvious on her face, and it just increases Merlin's own, because this isn't Gwen's fault, she's a good person who's trying to help him out, and as a result has got stuck in the middle of a fight between her two best friends. It isn't fair of him to put her in this position, but he's just not ready to let it go. Not yet.

"I just came round to drop off those Biology notes that you wanted to borrow. I forgot to give them to you before training." Gwen digs a sheaf of papers out of her bag and places them on the bed, her hand smoothing nervously over them.

It's as uncomfortable a moment as Merlin can remember being in, ever. He stands, arms wrapped around his torso, unsure of what to say or do to recapture the mood of just a few moments ago. 

"I should probably go," Gwen says. She reaches out with one hand and places it on Arthur's shoulder – Merlin's relieved to see Arthur's settle over it and squeeze gently in return. Perhaps not everything is ruined. She gets to her feet, a quick kiss is pressed to Merlin's cheek and then she's gone. 

And they're alone, but it's so far removed from how things were before Gwen's interruption, and Merlin just holds onto himself tighter, unsure of quite what to do now. 

It seems Arthur isn't hampered by any such uncertainty, because moments later he's on his feet.

"Arthur, please." Merlin finally lets go of himself, one arm out-stretched in a plea, or to stop Arthur, he's not sure. "You don't have to go."

Arthur shakes his head, a strained smile on his face. "I'm not leaving. I just…I was wrong to think we could start things back up like nothing happened."

"But—"

"Merlin, please, let me just…"

Merlin swallows hard and fights down the urge to beg Arthur not to leave him – after all, he'll need something to hold onto afterwards, even if his dignity is a poor substitute.

"I'm not saying that I want us to break up. I don't. But things are different now and we can't just pretend that they aren't."

"So what _are_ you saying?"

"I'm saying," Arthur pauses here and picks Gwen's scattered notes up off the bed. "I'm saying that you suck at Biology, Emrys, and maybe I could help make sure you pass that test tomorrow?"

It isn't quite the evening's activities that Merlin's been expecting since Arthur's arrival, but it's a start, an olive branch of sorts, and he's going to grasp it with both hands.

It's a long walk from school to Arthur's house, or at least it is after you've spent the last two hours running around a damp, cold football pitch. Merlin aches, and he'd like nothing more than to crawl into a hot bath, preferably with Arthur there to soap his aching muscles, but Arthur had asked him to come over, had seemed a little…off in the message he'd left, and Merlin doesn't get to spend nearly enough time with his boyfriend away from prying eyes.

Arthur's sister opens the door when he arrives. He's known Morgana as long as he's known Arthur, but she's older than they are and even as a child, she always managed to make Merlin feel clumsy and awkward. He might be gay, but he's not blind, and she's stunning. Not a patch on her brother though, he thinks with a private smile.

"Merlin," she says, one eyebrow arched as she takes in his muddy state. She stands back to let him in. "Arthur's in the kitchen. Do try not to touch anything – Uther's in a foul enough mood, without you getting mud all over the furniture." The soft quirk of her lips lessens the rebuke, but Merlin scurries through the nearby doorway all the same.

"Your sister is scary," is how he announces his presence.

Arthur turns and smiles. "That's hardly news, Merlin. She's had you on the ropes ever since you snapped the head off Ballerina Sindy."

Merlin flushes at the reminder, even after all this time. The flush deepens when Arthur steps closer and leans in for a kiss. Shocked, Merlin allows it for a second before he pulls away, looking around them wildly. 

Arthur takes a visibly deep breath and Merlin knows he's swallowing irritation. "We're not at school now," he says bitterly. "Or is kissing you another of those things I'm not allowed to do?"

"Arthur!" Merlin doesn't even try to keep the rebuke from his tone – anyone could walk past and hear him. "What if your dad walked in? Or Morgana?"

Arthur frowns a little. "What if he does?"

He's being deliberately obtuse, Merlin's sure of it. "Well, aren't you worried about how he'd react?" Uther Pendragon is not known for his rational responses.

Arthur smiles faintly. "Father got over his _my son is a homosexual_ freak-out a long time ago. Morgana keeps him supplied with things to be outraged about nowadays."

For a moment Merlin forgets to breathe. "Your father knows?"

"That I'm gay? Of course he does. I'm not going to lie to him about something like that."

However unintentional, the implication stings. "Unlike me, you mean?"

Arthur sighs tiredly and runs his hands through his hair. "No, that's not what I'm saying. Why do you take everything as an attack?"

"I don't—Hang on!" Merlin's eyes widen as a worrying thought occurs. "Does he know about…" He gestures between them vaguely with one hand.

"You can't even bring yourself to say it, can you?" Arthur looks sad and Merlin hates that he caused it, but he really needs to know. "I've never told him about us," Arthur says. "But he has eyes, Merlin. He's not stupid."

"And Morgana!" Merlin's day just keeps on getting worse. "No wonder she kept winking at me this summer. She knows!"

"Would it really be such a bad thing?"

Merlin looks at Arthur like he's gone a little crazy. "Would it…? Of course it would. You know I'm not ready yet."

Arthur pushes himself up till he's seated on the worktop and regards Merlin steadily. "I'm starting to wonder if you ever will be."

A flare of panic starts in Merlin's chest. This is _not_ the way he expected his evening to go. "What's that supposed to mean."

"Just what it says. You don't want to come out because of how your teammates will react, how they'll treat you. And I get that. But, Merlin, you're talking about making a career out of playing football.How are things going to be any different then? How long are you going to hide me away like some kind of sordid secret?"

Merlin blinks furiously to keep away the tears that are threatening. It's not like this thought hasn't occurred to him, but hearing Arthur put voice to it is so much worse. "It will be," he says stubbornly, though he really has no idea how.

And just like that, Arthur's anger drains out of him. He drops back to the floor and gives himself a visible shake. "Let's not," he says. "I didn't invite you over to fight. I've had enough of that with Father today."

Merlin knows enough about Uther's temperament to know that can't have been pleasant, and not particularly good for his health. "Did something happen? Was it your entrance exam? Oh, Arthur," Merlin steps a little closer without even thinking, "Did it not go well?" Though he really doesn't see how that's possible. Arthur is a ridiculously brainy and a terrible swot.

"The test was fine. Really good actually. As long as I get the right grades, the place is as good as mine."

Merlin grins in relief. "I can't believe I'm dating a science nerd." It costs him a lot to say that out loud, but it's worth it to see the smile on Arthur's face.

"You won't be complaining when you're dating an eligible young doctor."

"Whatever," Merlin says as dismissively as he can manage – he's not about to admit to Arthur that Doctor Pendragon has made a starring appearance in one or two of his fantasies of late. His ego's big enough already. "So, if it's not Oxford, what is it?"

"I told him I didn't want to go. To Oxford, I mean. I applied to University College in London, and if they'll have me, that's where I'm going."

"But Oxford was your dream?" Merlin protests

"Not really. It was always Father's idea for me to follow in his footsteps – I just went along with it because I didn't have any other plan."

"And now?"

"It's a really good university. One of the best for medical degrees. One of my old tutors is a professor there, and he's offered to write me a reference. Besides," Arthur continues, a sly smile forming on his lips, "I hear there are a lot more football teams to choose from in London than there are in Oxford."

Merlin would be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared by the implication behind Arthur's words. "You can't do this for me," he protests weakly.

Arthur steps even closer now. He reaches out as if about to take Merlin's hand, but at the last minute places it on his shoulder instead. "I'm not," he says, holding Merlin's gaze steadily. "I'm doing this for me. And if the decision means I get to be nearer to you, well that's just an added bonus."

Merlin doesn't say anything. To be honest, his throat's rather tight and he's a little afraid of what kind of sappy crap might come out if he tries, but he can't let a gesture like that pass by unacknowledged. So he leans in, presses the quickest of pecks to Arthur's lips and then pulls back, blushing furiously. It's not much, he knows that, but it's the best he can manage now, and for the future he plans to work on the rest.

The next couple of months run relatively smoothly and Merlin is pleasantly surprised. Things between him and Arthur are back on track – Christmas holidays give them a lot more time together, and he actually gets to _kiss_ his boyfriend at New Year – and even if they're both studiously avoiding any mention of their future right now, well, Merlin isn't going to be the one to draw attention to it.

Whether it's how well his private life is going that improves his performance on the pitch, or just dumb luck, Merlin isn't sure. But right now he's on a winning streak – currently the League's top scorer and Albion Royals are definitely on their way to that third successive title. His teammates love him, even the coach is cutting him some slack, and there's talk of a West Ham scout coming to watch their next cup game – Merlin can't quite decide if it's nerves or excitement that make his stomach twist at that news. 

Scout or no scout, his mum isn't going down without a fight, and her quest for Merlin to get a _proper_ career continues unabated. He knows she means well, and it's just possible he's been having one or two doubts himself, so Merlin puts up very little fight when he comes home one night to a pile of university prospectuses on the hall table. No small amount of help from Arthur later, and Merlin's UCAS form is ready to go by the start of the new term, and if his choices all centre around the Greater London area, well, that's just a happy coincidence, and nothing will persuade him to admit otherwise.

"You're late, Emrys!"

Slack he might be getting, but no one is allowed to turn up for training – not even the star player.

"Sorry, Coach," Merlin says as he hurriedly pulls his boots from his bag. "Had to see the careers advisor last period and it ran over."

Coach makes a dismissive noise which tells everyone who knows him just what his feelings about Miss Jacobs the career's advisor are. Mainly, Merlin suspects, because he doesn'taccept there _are_ any careers other than football. But he seems to accept the excuse and moves on to bawling out the next latecomer – an unfortunate soul who doesn’t have a recent scoring run under his belt to cushion the blow.

"Career's advisor?" Val demands from wherehe's changing at Merlin's side. "Only career advisor you need is coming to the Mercia game next weekend. She trying to push one of those stupid apprenticeship things? Slave labour, my dad says."

Merlin shakes his head – it's pointless trying to keep anything secret in this school. "Mum's still pushing me to go to university." He tries to inject as muchdistaste into it as possible.

"University?" Val scoffs. "You've been spending too much time with that Pendragon nerd."

"What?" Merlin hopes the tremor of nerves isn't audible in his voice.

"You're always in the library with him now, instead of hanging out with us. You want to be careful spending that much time with him – people will talk."

"I hardly think the school grapevine is going to be that interested in my study habits." Merlin's heart is poundingso loud he's surprised the rest of the team can't hear it – it's like all his worst nightmares are starting to come true.

"Studying?" Val has a nasty sneer on his face as he tugs on his shorts. "I bet that's not all he wants to be doing with you."

"What the fuck are you babbling about?" Merlin's fingers shake just a little as he tries to lace his boots and it takes all his self-control not to just flee.

"You do know about him, don't you?"

"Know what?"

Val reaches out and grabs Merlin's wrist tightly. "He's bent, Merlin. A fucking queer."

Merlin swears he can taste sick in his mouth, but he concentrates instead on shaking off Val's touch and remembering to breathe. "No he fucking isn't. Don't be a twat, Val."

"Jonno's cousin used to go out with his sister." Val looks over at their teammate for confirmation and a nod is forthcoming. 

_God,_ Merlin thinks. _Have they been talking about this behind his back, discussing him?_

"Good job you're tapping the lovely Gwen on a regular basis," Val continues, with a grab of his crotch that does nothing for the vomit in Merlin's mouth. "Or we'd have to start asking some serious questions about you. Don't want no benders on the team – not good for morale."

It's not like Merlin hasn't known all along what the reaction would be. He's imagined it, dreamt about it often enough that it shouldn't come as any kind of surprise.But hearing every one of his fears spoken so casually by someone who's _supposed_ to be a friend, having confirmation that this team, their bond, is so conditional on the act of 'fitting in' that he'd be ostracized in a heartbeat if they knew the truth, it all makes Merlin want to cry.

Arthur's right. He's starting to see that now. He has to make a choice. He can either be true to himself and not have football, or he can spend the rest of his life living a lie just so he can pull on a strip every Saturday and run around after a ball. Why is this even a choice for him?

But it is. So much so that when Arthur comes around later that evening to find him stillin a state of blind panic, he actually suggests that maybe Arthur should get a girlfriend – someone understanding, just like Gwen, just until the year is over. And the expression on Arthur's face only makes Merlin hate himself that little bit more.

"Merlin," he says quietly, pulling his coat and scarf back on. "I love you. But I'm not going back in the closet. I wouldn't do it for my father and I can't believe that you, of all people, would ask me to be less than who I am."

It's a long, silent walk home from training on Friday. It's dark and cold and Merlin can see the frost of his breath in front. Gwen isn't saying much – not with her voice anyway. But with her expression and body language she might as well be screaming at him, so obvious is her disapproval.

"Why don't you just say it?" Merlin kicks absently at a stone, his eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn't want this conversation to happen, but it's going to, and he'd rather do it before Gwen has time to build up a real head of steam. 

"What do you want me to say?" Gwen asks – her voice calm, which is never a good sign.

Merlin chances a glance sideways at her, but she's not looking. Her gaze is fixed determinedly on the passing traffic, as if she can't bring herself to look at him. And she probably can't. Merlin isn't entirely sure he'll be able to face the mirror later.

"Anything," he replies, desperate to rip off the plaster now he's started picking at the edges. "You're obviously angry."

She looks at him then, and Merlin realises it was easier before. "I'm not angry, Merlin."

"Right." Merlin kicks the stone viciously and watches as it skitters into the road. "Of course you're not."

"I'm not angry," Gwen repeats. "I'm just…" She flaps her hands uselessly at her sides while obviously searching for a word.

"What?" Merlin prompts.

"Disappointed, I suppose."

Merlin wishes he'd never asked. Anger is one thing. That fades quickly, especially with Gwen. But this? It's like she's been taking lessons from his mum. He already feels guilty enough and he doesn't need any help with that, so he makes no effort to stifle the flicker of irritation at her words. "That's not fair," he says, well aware he sounds like the mulish teenager he is.

Gwen sighs then and sounds _so_ tired. "I don't think any of this is fair. People keeping secrets, pretending, _lying_ \-- I don’t think any of us are going to emerge from this with any credit."

"And that's my fault, I suppose?" Merlin jams his hands deep in his coat pockets and tries to stay calm. He doesn't want to take it out on Gwen – he knows it's not her fault. The trouble is that he daren't take it out on the people he really blames.

"No, Merlin, it's not," she says, and sounds so long-suffering with it that the guilt comes back full force. "It's the fault of society for making you think you need to hide who you are. It's those Neanderthal teammates of yours who are just pathetic, scared little boys hiding behind their hatred. And that bloody coach of yours who never, _never_ says anything to them about it."

Gwen stops then, and the light for the streetlamp above seems to emphasise the emotion flashing in her eyes. "And some of it is your fault, too," she continues. "You didn't choose to be gay, but you did choose to get involved with Arthur, to drag him into this mess, and then you just stand there and say _nothing_ while those bastards say such awful things about him." She shakes her head in what looks like disbelief. "How can you, Merlin?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Merlin demands, stung by her words. "Stop being mean to my boyfriend?" 

"It would have been a start. Do you think for a minute Arthur would have stayed silent if it had been the other way around?"

And no, of course Arthur wouldn't have stayed silent. But then, Merlin thinks a little bitterly, everything's always come just a little bit easier for him. "It's different for Arthur. He's braver than I am."

It's sadness that has Gwen shaking her head this time. "No, he's not. He just knows that some things, some people are worth the risk." She pauses then, takes a deep breath, and looks at Merlin with wide, sad eyes. "I don't want to be part of this anymore."

Merlin's stomach tightens in panic. "What d'you mean?"

"I'm breaking up with you. Find yourself a new girlfriend. Or better still, stick with the boyfriend you've already got."

Merlin says nothing. Truth be told his brain isn't really functioning properly right now. He just stands there, rooted to the spot, and watches her walk away until she rounds the corner and disappears from sight. And he can't for the life of him work out how everything in his life turned to shit so quickly.

He'd thought he had it all last term – or as close to having it all as a closeted gay teenager in a small town can get. He's already lost Arthur, and now it looks like Gwen is going as well, and the only thing he has left to look forward to isthe prospect of being scouted at tomorrow's game. Only, the problem is, as he starts to realise what the price of that may be, Merlin isn't entirely sure he wants it as badly as he once did.

Eventually he gains enough control of his emotions that he's willing to try facing his mum – she usually sees right through him and he's _really_ not in the mood right now. He walks the remaining few hundred yards to his front door and reluctantlyslides his key into the lock.

"Merlin? Is that you?"

His mum asks that every time – Merlin's never sure who else she is expecting. "Yeah, Mum."

"You're late tonight. Hurry up; tea's getting cold."

Merlin kicks off his trainers, hangs his coat on the bottom of the stairs, and makes his way slowly to the kitchen.

His mum looks up as he enters. "I thought Gwen was coming with you?"

"She had to go home. Some essay to write, or something." What's one more lie, Merlin thinks. They're almost becoming second nature to him now – he should probably start to worry about that.

His mum hands him a plate but doesn’t pass comment. She doesn't need to though, not really. Merlin thinks that all mums are masters at the art of saying so much without moving their lips. Or maybe it's just all women, going on Gwen's performance earlier.

His mum picks up her own plate and joins him at the table. She salts her food and then passes it into his outstretched hand. "Is Arthur busy with school work just now as well?"

"What?" Merlin startles and ends up with a little more salt than he intended. "What makes you ask that?"

"No reason." His mum tries for airy, but Merlin sees through it. "He just hasn't been around in a while. And you two are usually joined at the hip."

"I don't know," Merlin mutters, shoving a forkful of egg into his mouth. "We're not exactly speaking."

"Oh, Merlin." His mum shakes her head. "Don't look so sad about it. Your dad and I used to argue all the time, and look how happy we ended up." She glances over to the mantelpiece where the wedding photo sits, a sad smile playing around her lips.

Merlin follows her gaze, his heart heavy in a way that only mention of his late father can make it. Until he realises what his mum's just said. That she's just compared his and Arthur's _friendship_ to her marriage. And as he looks back at his mum again, at the way she's not quite meeting his gaze, Merlin realises, belatedly, that Arthur is probably right – there _are_ some things parents just _know_ about their children.

No matter how awful the last few days have been for Merlin – and they really have been, spectacularly so – he feels a strange sense of calm as he tugs on his kit, laces his boots, and takes his usual place on the familiar pitch.

For a schoolboys' cup game there are a surprising number of spectators. But then Albion Royals have something of a reputation in the local area. They're _good_ , and people know it. So while it's not exactly The Kop out there, it's a decent swell of people to cheer them on.

His mum's out there. His mum who doesn't really understand or even enjoy the game, but who has never once missed a single one of his games, because that's just the sort of amazing mum he has. Just how amazing, he is only beginning to realise. There is a serious heart-to-heart in their very near future, but Merlin is no longer afraid of the outcome.

He knows Gwen's out there too. Merlin had spotted her earlier, making eyes at the Mercia centre-half who’s built like a brick wall. She'd given Merlin a smile, just a quick one, but it was enough to reassure him things would be okay.

As for Arthur, Merlin hasn't seen him yet, doesn't know for sure if he'll actually come. He'd tried calling late last night, but had ended up leaving a voicemail that was long and rambling and probably sent Arthur fleeing in the other direction. But really, even though he knows he doesn't deserve it, Merlin is fairly sure Arthur will come. He's the sort of person who always gives second chances and benefits-of-the-doubt, and he's exactly the sort of man Merlin wants desperately to be, and to be _with_. So he takes a deep breath as the ref blows his whistle and leaves everything else to fate.

Merlin isn't sure if he's imagining it, but he just feels like he's playing freer than ever before today. He could simply be projecting because that's how he feels inside, but the score line doesn't lie.

The first one had been a lucky chip on an admittedly quality cross from Val – and yes, it pains him to admit that. The second had been a perfect set play from a free kick – one that never came off quite so well in practice. And the third? That was the goal Merlin was most proud of, the one he wanted remembered.

His teammates always ragged him about goal-hanging, so the fact that he'd scored his final goal off the back of a solo run from midfield was the most perfect answer to them that Merlin could have given. He'd sliced it across the goalmouth, beating the keeper with ease, and putting victory well out of Mercia's reach.

As the final whistle blows, with Albion's place in the quarter finals assured, Merlin's teammates pile on with hugs and thumps and the kind of language that would make a sailor blush. But with a careful bit of elbowing, Merlin manages to extricate himself. 

He loves football, it's a huge part of who he is, but the last few weeks have taught him it really _isn't_ more important than life-and-death, not matter what Bill Shankly might have believed. Self-respect and honesty and friendship and love, these are all things that Merlin has learnt to value more, and if he can't play the game he loves, in the way that he wants, and be true to himself at the same time, then the decision is easier than he ever dreamt it would be.

Arthur is waiting on the touchline when Merlin walks away from the huddle. He's been there from the kick-off, cheering himself hoarse, and providing just a little distraction for the star striker. _This_ is what he wants, Merlin thinks, as he takes in the flush of cold on Arthur's cheeks, the shine of pride in his eyes. And finally he realises just how unimportant other people's opinions are.

He reaches out and grabs hold of Arthurs scarf, pulling him close. Kissing him is easy, because Arthur's mouth is already wide open with shock. It's clear he wasn't expecting this. To be honest, Merlin's a little surprised himself, and _he's_ been planning this since the early hours of the morning.

He'd like to stay here forever, exploring every part of Arthur's mouth with his tongue, but Merlin's very aware of his mum nearby, and about a hundred other people too – his teammates included.

Arthur's hands come up to hold onto Merlin's waist just as Merlin pulls back a little. But it's only a short distance and their faces are still just inches apart.

"Well." Arthur grins broader than Merlin can ever remember seeing. "That was unexpected."

Merlin grins in spite of the squirming nerves in his belly. "It was the best way I could think of to apologise," he says, and is grateful he's already flushed from exertion.

"It's definitely a good start," Arthur says, his expression almost turning serious for a moment. "But you've got a lot to make up for."

Merlin's heart drops like a stone and every inch of him throbs with panic.

But Arthur's smile has turned a little sly now. "How about you grab your stuff," he says, thumbs rubbing circles on Merlin's hips. "Then we'll go back to my empty house, and you can apologise some more."

The End


End file.
